


Phobia

by Neffectual



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Crack, M/M, Playgirl, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: Hunter just wants to make Shawn feel appreciated. He didn't expect the spiders.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked on DMs for nudes and Royal Rumble predictions. When I told the RR chat I was in, the following was said:  
> "Send them HBK's Playgirl, covered in spoilers."  
> "I read that as spiders at first."  
> "Yes, send them HBK's Playgirl, covered in spiders."
> 
> It had to be written.  
> (Also, I sent them that gif of Dolph with just the towel on from the horrible Lana/Dolph/Summer/Rusev angle. They didn't respond.)

The thing about Shawn, Hunter thinks, as he lazily cards his fingers through the other man’s hair, is that he’s never been able to let go of past glories. Maybe, uncharitably, this is because he hasn’t had any recent ones. Where Hunter has NXT, and his kids from there taking the world by storm, Shawn’s been a little more faded into obscurity, coming back to do the odd Mania slot, to hype up the crowd, to compare Seth Rollins to his former self – but that’s just it. Triple H has changed, from wild, anti-authority guy to being THE authority in wrestling. He’s lost the hair, put on a suit, and stopped parading around in trunks like he thought he could take on the best of the guys. Well, mostly. WrestleMania doesn’t count, he’s always said that.

But Shawn’s got a closet full of memorabilia, a whole space of his past accomplishments, and honestly, Hunter finds it a little sad to think that almost none of it is on display, all just… stuffed in a closet, kept locked away. There’s a metaphor, somewhere, for what he’s done to Shawn for all these years, but Hunter didn’t get where he is today by examining himself too closely. Shawn can’t even let go of the long hair, combing it back over where he can, keeping the ponytail, and Hunter wants to admire him for that, but at the same time, sometimes it feels a little sad. It feels like Shawn’s stuck in their glory days, and Hunter’s striding ahead, and he doesn’t want to do that, it’s not what he wants for his long-time lover. Shawn deserves better than that.

So, when they’re lounging around at Shawn’s place, post-coital and bathing in that warm glow, Hunter makes the offer.

“We should make you a memorabilia room,” he says, and stretches, hearing his shoulders click and pop. Mark of the business, that – you get old, and your joints are already there, meeting you. “Get some of that shit out of the closet, set it up nice, that sort of thing.”

“Got no need to see past glory,” Shawn rasps, all gravel and southern boy charm, and Hunter can’t help the smile that creeps across his face as Shawn’s hand slides along his thigh. “Got all the reminders of that right here.”

It’s nice, and affirming, and Hunter’s always enjoyed Shawn’s praise of him, always liked praise in general, but he still wants to do something.

“Come on, let’s turn that shitty guest room into something worth your reputation,” he says, and reluctantly gets out of bed. Shawn sends a low whistle after him, and Hunter makes sure to sway his hips as he walks towards the bathroom. They’re not young anymore, but they’ve never been afraid to give round two the old college try.

 

It turns out, there’s a bit of an issue that comes with trying to get Shawn’s closet of memorabilia into some semblance of order, and that is... well, Hunter’s biggest fear.

“You could have CLEANED it once in a while,” he complains, from where he’s standing on the coffee table like a 1950’s housewife who just saw a mouse. “You didn’t need to let it become this.”

Shawn’s not particularly bothered, just rummaging in boxes full of magazines and newspapers, absently scratching at his arms as he digs through, trying to find something in particular. Hunter’s not actually heard a word Shawn’s said since they opened the closet and found what appears to be the largest gathering of spiders on the continent. It’s not that Hunter’s afraid, obviously not, but… there’s a lot of spiders, and until he’s ascertained they’re not brown recluses, he’s not leaving the table.

“Here it is!” Shawn’s suddenly saying, brandishing an old copy of – oh, it’s his Playgirl spread, Hunter notices absently, before Shawn’s shaking it open in front of him. And dropping spiders all over him.

The resultant scream was probably heard several miles away, and later, Hunter will be embarrassed about it, but at this moment in time, he’s busy screaming, because he’s pretty sure some of those spiders just went down his pants.

“Stop squirming, you’ll frighten them,” Shawn tries to soothe, while he’s tugging Hunter’s pants off him as carefully as possible.

“I’ll frighten THEM? I hate spiders, I hate them, why do they do this? They’re called brown recluses, if they’re so reclusive, why won’t they get off my dick?!” Hunter bellows. “I hate them, Shawn, make them go away.”

Shawn grins, and Hunter can still take a moment, even through the paralysing fear of the spiders, to appreciate his lover’s smile.

“They’re just house spiders, Hunt, calm down,” Shawn says, dismissively, “and they don’t want your dick.”

“Everyone wants my dick,” Hunter responds, automatically, and watches that damnable grin widen. “Now go get the vacuum, so I can get off the table.”

Shawn does what he’s told.

 

In the end, Shawn gets his memorabilia room, but the spider-ridden Playgirl is consigned to the trash. Shawn doesn’t seem to too beaten up about it, though, so Hunter doesn’t tell him he has a spare copy. He does, however, call an exterminator. Shawn, he can live with. Spiders? Not so much.


End file.
